


Nightfall

by Fier



Series: In a Flash [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Blindness, Disability, Disfigurement, F/M, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26740966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fier/pseuds/Fier
Summary: Blindness sucked, and he didn't want to do it anymore.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: In a Flash [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897696
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Flash IV: Nightfall  
> AUTHOR: TCS1121  
> FEEDBACK: TCS1121@hotmail.com  
> HOMEPAGE: www.angelfire.com/scifi2/xfilesfanfic/ff.html  
> RATING: R  
> CLASSIFICATION: X, Angst  
> KEYWORDS: MSR, AU  
> DISCLAIMER: 1013 and FOX own all the X-Files characters. No money changes hands.  
> ARCHIVE: As you wish.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the fourth story in the "In a Flash" series. 
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS:
> 
> To dtg for her beta help.
> 
> To Laura S, my favorite first reader, for her comments and beta help.
> 
> To Touchstone for giving me her eyes to help me see if this story was on the right track.
> 
> To Tere-- http://tere-art.com/ --who allowed me to use her beautiful collage to represent this story at my site.

> _Those tomorrows waiting deep in your eyes_  
>  _In the world of love that you keep in your eyes_  
>  I'll awaken what's asleep in your eyes  
>  It may take a kiss or two
> 
> What Are You Doing the Rest Of Your Life?
> 
> -Music by Michel Legrand lyrics by Alan Bergman and Marilyn Bergman

* * *

A totally blind person might as well have nothing under the lids, because the eyes beneath were useless. Visually impaired people had to wear glasses with thick lenses to see clearly. A person who was legally blind lived in a blurry world of color, contrasts, and indistinct blobs, even wearing thick glasses.

But total blindness meant that someone had to take the splinter out of your thumb for you. Someone had to tell you which two teeth that piece of broccoli was lodged between. Dropping keys, stubbing toes on a kitchen chair that suddenly appeared, and smelling smoke ran the gamut from annoying, to embarrassing, to terrifying.

And after a while, you forgot what things looked like when you could see. 

Mulder concluded that the U.S. Post office, delivering mail to him that he couldn't read, sucked. That having identifying labels sewn onto everything, including the sheets, sucked. That everyone in the world, except him, seeing his beautiful wife, sucked.

Blindness sucked, and he didn't want to do it anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm almost ready," Scully said, as she entered the bedroom. "Do the zipper for me, please?"

Mulder smiled. "Okay. C'mere. Turn around."

A few months ago, she'd hurt his feelings when she walked away without telling him, and he found he'd been talking to an empty room for ten minutes. After she warmly apologized, she'd been careful to speak whenever she entered or exited.

"Scully, are you sure you want to go?"

He knew it was no use, but he put in one last appeal. "It's New Year's Eve. We could cuddle by the fire, wait for the ball to drop, and greet the New Year by desecrating the couch "

His finger trailed down the open seam to find the zipper pull. 'No bra tonight,' he thought. And he slowly zipped her up.

"Oh, that poor couch." She padded away. A moment later, heels clicked on the hardwood floor one at a time as she tapped her feet into her shoes. "There's almost no spring left in any of those cushions." Tap, tap, tap.

"I know you don't like hobnobbing with politicians, and I know you don't like the senator. And, as nice as cuddling on the sofa sounds, Mulder, being invited to Senator E. John O'Neill's white tie affair is a once in a lifetime event." The tapping got louder as she walked toward him. He'd noticed that higher heels clacked louder, and damn, she must be wearing stilettos.

"You know why he invited us, I just don't want to turn into the entertainment for the evening."

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I'll deflect the hoards."

She put his hands on her shoulders. "Besides, I don't want to waste this." He fingered the silk spaghetti straps that led into a low v- neck in the front. And the zipper he had just pulled came only half way up her back.

"Mmm --you smell nice." He nuzzled behind her ear.

"Thank you. It's new, and it's expensive. Do you like it?"

"Mmm humm." Nodding into her neck, he tried to take a quick nip, but she was too fast.

"Save it for later, Mister. We're still going."

He chuckled, and then let his hands roam.

His fingers glided over the sleek silk hugging her curves, following the smooth material all the way from the form-fitting bodice to the thigh high slits on either side. He trailed his fingers up her thighs, around her waist, to her arms where satiny gloves came to her elbows. Then back up to her shoulders. Assessing her wardrobe by feel was the only perk that came with his blindness.

"Beautiful." He turned her around, and ran his lips down her exposed spine.

"It's emerald green, and shimmers blue-green as I walk."

He gritted his teeth and smiled. She had no idea. Color was the first thing he'd lost. He had never relied on it as a reference, because of his red/green colorblindness, but now, having no color recollection helped wash his remaining memories away. All the lines were blurred, and now black and gray were the only colors his mind could remember.

"Beautiful," he repeated in her ear.

"So are you," she murmured.

He turned her to face him, but instead of kissing her, he wisped the pads of his fingers gently up her neck, and over her face, barely touching her. Smooth, warm skin: unblemished, unscarred, and unwrinkled. Scully let him do this as often as he wanted, and never complained that her makeup often ended up dotting his fingertips.

"I'm not used to it, either," she whispered. "After all these months, I still can't believe it when I look in the mirror. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He kissed her, and accepted her thanks, because she wanted him to. The reconstructive surgeries had been successful. He knew this by the way her skin felt under his fingers as she slept, and the way her voice had a new brightness and smile to it. And the way that other men took notice of her again.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Turn around."

Spreading his arms, Mulder made a slow pirouette. A white tie affair was the most formal of formal events. Scully went with him to rent a long black dinner jacket with tails. Under that, was a white pique vest over his formal shirt, and a matching white pique bow tie. Black tuxedo trousers falling to his polished black leather shoes completed the ensemble. The finishing touch was the matte black Ray Ban Predators, one of her Christmas presents to him.

Men often wore white gloves to an event this dressy, but he wasn't wearing them tonight. Mulder needed his hands to handle his cane, since he'd never been in the International Ballroom at the Hilton Towers before. His fingers could interpret every bump, crack, and uneven surface the tip of his cane found. He would use the telescoping one, so he could hide it under the folds of his jacket.

Scully brushed her fingers through his hair, straightened his tie, and said, "You'll do."

He nodded, and held out his arm. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they walked out to their waiting cab.

* * *

"Agent Mulder, so glad you came," Senator O'Neill said, clapping Mulder's shoulder. "Agent Scully, you look stunning tonight."

"Thank you for inviting us, Senator," Mulder replied politely. "This event is somewhat out of our league." He held a champagne glass in one hand, and slid the other around Scully's waist. "As I recall, at the end of our last case, I was ankle deep in slime."

"That's right, you were! That's right!" He laughed. "Of course I invited you here tonight. My guests were very impressed that I'd gotten two national heroes to come!" The politician chuckled again.

"I think 'heroes' is a bit of an exaggeration," Scully said, shifting foot to foot, her gown crinkling as she moved.

"Nonsense. Finding that kidnapped teenager alive was nothing short of amazing. The whole country was caught up in that case, and not just with that young girl, but also with the two of you." He laughed in mock self-depreciation. "I've even been congratulated for bringing you both into that case."

Mulder remembered to smile as he said, "Well that's a new one on us, sir. Just a few years ago, people and politicians couldn't get away from us fast enough."

"Not anymore, Agent Mulder," the senator said dramatically. "You are the stuff headlines are made of. A young teen with the homespun name of Amanda Ward, kidnapped in Oregon, the authorities follow the paper trail to Chicago, where suddenly every trace of her disappears."

"Which is when you requested our involvement." Mulder sipped his third or forth drink, and wondered if he should smile again. "We don't usually get personal requests from U.S. senators."

"Well you probably will now." It was obvious that Senator O'Neill enjoyed telling and retelling this story, even to the two main participants. "You and your partner magically picked up her trail, and trace her from Illinois, finding her alive and well near the Florida Everglades. Unbelievable," he giggled. "And, Agent Mulder, your picture on the front page of every newspaper in the country made you an instant legend."

It was true. Scully had described the photo that appeared on the front page of every major Sunday newspaper. It was cropped to show Mulder, shouting into his cell phone. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he stood ankle deep in Florida swamp water. If you looked carefully, his white cane was visible in his left hand. The caption read: FBI Special Division Finds Missing Teen Alive. The story reported the rescuing of America's favorite kidnapped teen by an unusual male/female FBI team.

The story, and Mulder's photograph, created major interest. Amanda Ward had been held in a trailer park near Lake Okeechobee, by a man old enough to be her father. The man's own teenage daughter had recently died from a drug overdose, and he wanted to 'adopt' another one.

What the picture didn't show was that Mulder was standing in a small Florida drainage ditch, with swarms of local agents close by, cleaning up the area long after the girl had been rescued, unharmed. The photographer didn't know that Mulder had accidentally lost his footing, and was swearing into the phone at Skinner about how the muck was ruining his shoes.

The article introduced Fox Mulder as the lead FBI agent on the case. How he was an Oxford grad, and had been blinded a few years ago, in the line of duty. His longtime partner was a female agent and a medical doctor. When an enterprising reporter made the marital connection between the two, America's new sweetheart couple was born. Fortunately, the fervor was short lived, as the Mulders declined to give interviews, or appear on talk shows. Their lives went back to normal after a few weeks.

Except that now they were in a ballroom, dressed to the nines, eating exotic food, and drinking expensive champagne with hundreds of similarly occupied people.

Senator O'Neill clapped Mulder on the shoulder again, left his hand there, and said cheerfully, "Agents, do you have a minute to talk shop?"

Mulder heard Scully sigh before she took his empty glass away. A moment later, a fresh, cold glass was pressed into his hand. She clinked her glass against his.

Feeling the effervescence sizzle around his nose, he sipped the sparkling wine and said, "Shoot, Senator."

"It's probably nothing, but there's a troubling situation I'm sure you've read about." The senator gently prodded Mulder, and they walked three abreast. "A European cult has claimed that they've successfully cloned a human. And that the baby girl is alive and well, and living in the United States."

"Yes." Mulder nodded. "It's been reported relentlessly over the past week, but as you know it's not the first such claim. Cults and kooks for the past ten years have declared they've created the first clone baby. Right now, another religious group from Hungary is claiming that their first clone baby will be born this summer."

Mulder was pretty sure the Senator was steering them away from his real guests.

"True, Agent Mulder. But this cult, calling itself A Porta Do Rei, has made contact with my office. They say that the baby girl is in Chicago, and they can prove that she's the real deal."

"These claims are routinely proved to be false, Senator," Scully said. "But I have heard of this group. A Porta Do Rei is Portuguese for 'The King's Door.' It's a cult society based in Lisbon, Portugal, who every few years make outlandish claims that they have either manipulated world business markets, directed weather patterns, or found cures for obscure cancers. They're a hodgepodge of religious beliefs, and a bunch of radicals, or as Agent Mulder more aptly put it, 'kooks.'"

"Perhaps they are, Agent Scully, but they told my office who the baby is, and where she's living."

Senator O'Neill dropped his hand from Mulder's arm, and brushed in front of Mulder, toward Scully. Mulder heard a rustle of fabric, and then another, and what sounded like a hand brushing on silk. Mulder suspected the Senator was pawing his wife. Or more likely, just touching her arm.

"Agent Scully. Even if they are a cult full of psychos, they can cause another stain on the tarnished image the state of Illinois has regretfully acquired over the past year. We don't need the world pointing at us muttering things about cults and clones."

The senator exhaled loudly. "A few months before Amanda Ward was brought to a dive on the outskirts of Chicago, a serial rapist made his way through Springfield, leaving five women brutally assaulted. Springfield, the state capital. Abraham Lincoln's hometown! He hasn't been caught yet."

Mulder heard O'Neill smack his lips after a healthy swallow, so he copied the gesture with his own drink.

"After that, nine students at the campus of Lake Forest College held a flag burning, protesting U.S. involvement in some third world country somewhere. Lake Forest College! Nothing ever happens at Lake Forest, but the media was all over it-- mostly because nothing ever does happen at Lake Forest. And that routine bomb scare at the Sears Tower last week-end didn't help matters." Senator O'Neill's voice raised an octave before he took it down a notch.

After a beat, he continued. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder. I want you to disprove the existence of this clone girl, and drive this A Porta cult deep into anonymity. Illinois has had enough of the dark spotlight for the time being."

'Dark spotlight,' Mulder thought. The senator must be pretty well looped. Mulder drained his glass, and asked innocently, "This is an election year, isn't it, Senator?" Senator O'Neill walked past, and Mulder smelled sweat mingled with champagne and expensive aftershave. Scully tugged Mulder's wrist, and took the empty champagne glass out of his hand.

"Agent Scully," O'Neill purred. "Your poise and--the whole way you handled the Amanda Ward case, you put a good spin on a potentially tragic situation. Just by your involvement. I just was hoping you'd find the clone case interesting enough to either prove or disprove. That's all." "Is this why you invited us tonight, Senator?" Scully asked lightly.

"Yes, it was one of the reasons," he admitted. "That, and I wanted to see you again. See you both again," he amended.

Mulder's head began to pound, and an ache passed through his chest. That pain was coming more and more often. In fact, it happened every time a man gave Scully a compliment, or even asked her how she felt. He fingered his wedding ring, feeling for the letters she'd engraved on the outside of the band. "Yours Forever."

"Let me know what you decide. And soon, please. I hope--I hope you'll consider doing this for me." Then O'Neill was gone. Good. Good riddance.

"So, what do you think of that, Scully? Think he's just another politician looking for votes? Suppose it's up to us to get them for him?"

Glasses clinked, the crowd roared, and live music was heard through the din. She threaded her arm through his, and walked him toward the band. "We have less than an hour until it's next year," she said. "Let's eat too much, drink too much, dance so close that people will talk, and kiss at midnight. I'll lead."

"No." He took her hands, closed his eyes behind his Ray Ban's, and said. "I'll lead."

In the background, the band played "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?" He held her close to his chest. Keeping his arm firmly around her waist, he placed his right leg between both of hers, and pressed his thigh up against her as they slow-danced.

She swayed in his arms, laughing lightly. He kissed her neck a few times, and then came around to a whisper's distance from her ear. Too much champagne made hum the words:

"I want to see your face in every kind of light In fields of dawn and forests of the night ..."

His heart broke a little as he sang. In his soft, gravelly voice, he finished the song:

"Through all of my life Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall of my life All I ever will recall of my life Is all of my life with you. Happy New Year, Scully."


	3. Chapter 3

The first week of the New Year brought sunny skies, and mild winter temperatures to the DC area. The second week dumped ten inches of snow over three days and nights.

Mulder typed in two keystrokes, pressed his lips together, and waited. His keyboard had a Brailled overlay, and the screen access software nicely converted html web pages to text. A synthesized voice read them aloud. It took an additional few moments for site access, and splash pages sometimes were a pain in the neck, but Internet access was at his fingertips. And the Internet never sleeps.

"Mulder?" Scully sounded half awake. "What are you doing up?"

"Did you know that cults have their own web sites?" he mumbled, pressing a key. The computer's voice read: "Welcome. We are the Branch Davidians, we are also known as the Students of the Seven Seals..." He clicked it off.

Through a yawn she said, "I'm not surprised. The White House, The Vatican, Star Trek; they all have websites. Why wouldn't cults? Do you know what time it is?"

Chair legs scraped across the floor, and a thud landed in the chair next to him. Mulder hit a key, then Enter.

"U.S. Naval Observatory Master Clock. At the tone, Eastern Standard Time: three hours, fifty-three minutes, 20 seconds. Beep."

"You're such a show-off," she complained.

"Why are you up?" he said, controlling his foul mood. "Go back to bed."

Oblivious, she asked, "Did you find anything on A Porta Do Rei?" Her arm brushed in front of him, and she began clicking the mouse.

"Scully." He stilled her hand. "Please. Go back to bed."

After a pause, she asked, "Want to come with me?"

"No." He typed in several keystrokes, and waited for the mechanical voice to speak.

"Cult Information Service: Cultic Studies: Information about Cults and Psychological Manipulation..."

"What's the matter?" She stayed seated.

Mulder shook his head. "Nothing."

"Is anything wrong?"

He didn't answer.

"Are you angry with me about something?"

"Scully..."

"...studying the scope of psychological manipulation that cults..."

"Mulder, are you angry with me?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

"What is it?" she asked. "Please."

"...members exhibit a high level of compliance to the demands of the leader..."

"I'm going gray, and you didn't tell me." He tabbed over.

She was silent for a moment then said, "Mulder, I--I'm going gray, too. It looks good on both of us."

"...The world becomes sharply divided into the absolutely good and the absolutely evil..."

He slammed the keyboard harder than he meant to, and the voice stopped.

"That's not the point. You need to tell me these things." He stood up, knocking his chair over. "Shit."

"Mulder, is that really what's bothering you?" she asked carefully.

"I didn't want to tell you." He set the chair up, and paused. Pinching the bridge of his nose he said, "I didn't want to hear myself say it."

"Didn't want to say what?" She was concerned, and as far as he could tell, she hadn't moved.

"It's not like closing your eyes, Scully. It's not like wearing a blindfold, or going down into a dark basement. It's being buried alive. There's no light, no color, no shadows, no--nothing. And now it's even worse, because I can't remember..." He swallowed, and started again. "I can't remember what I look like." He paced away from her, and said softly. "I almost can't remember what you look like, either."

"Mulder..."

"I know you in other ways," he said quickly. "But I can't form the touch into a mental image anymore. I haven't been able to remember what I looked like for a while, but it hit me hard yesterday, when someone mentioned how dignified my gray looked. You could have at least warned me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think...I didn't know." Her soft voice sounded far away.

"I know you didn't know." He squeezed his eyes shut. "You didn't know because I didn't tell you."

He sighed, and took another breath. "It sounds ridiculous, but..." It was ridiculous, but she still needed to know. "But even after all this time, I'd still hoped to wake up one morning, open my eyes, and see light. That's all, just a tiny bit of fuzzy light. But it doesn't work that way, does it?"

He placed both palms flat against the wall, facing it. "Now, I know that the mental snapshots I've worked so hard to preserve, will all fade to black. And someday, Scully," he whispered, "your face will disappear too."

The currents in the room swirled, and he felt her standing quietly behind him.

"Please, just go back to bed." He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand.

She slipped her arms around him, and pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. "Mulder, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't tell you about the gray at your temples. I didn't pay attention to it, or to you. I'm your partner, I'm your wife; I should have noticed that you were hurting, but I've been distracted--with myself. After the scars were removed, and they put my nose back where it belonged, I became self absorbed, and I'm sorry."

"God, Scully, don't ever be sorry about that. Please. Partners-- husbands and wives-- need to talk to each other, and I wasn't talking to you."

She gently turned him around. "You were still losing your sight, even after almost four years, and I wasn't helping you deal with it."

He shook his head, and said sadly, "I've been keeping quiet on purpose. I was afraid that if I said it out loud, it would be true. As long as I was silent, there was no one to tell me what a fool I was, and I could blame anyone I wanted to for the encroaching darkness. But do you know what?"

He reached out, and found her shoulders. "The only one who would take the blame...is you. The person I love and need the most. How sick is that?"

"If you need me to do that for you, I will." Her hair brushed against his hand. "But there's something you forgot."

"What?"

"When you need to know what something looks like, it's my job to show you."

She touched his cheek. "I don't have to tell you this, because you've already married me, but you're a damn good looking man, Mulder."

"Even though I'm going gray?" he asked softly.

"See, here are the culprits." She rustled her fingers at the hairline of his temple, and then outlined a small triangle above each ear with her index finger. "Right here, and here. There's a tinge of gray beginning to peek out between all the brown. It was a woman who mentioned the gray to you, wasn't it?" She waited until he nodded.

"That's because it's very sexy. And I should have told you that before she did." She touched his cheek again.

"She said I looked 'dignified,' not sexy," he said rubbing his head into her hand.

"She meant sexy, trust me."

"What else... What do I look like?"

She stroked his jaw. "Now, at four in the morning, you have rough, scraggly, dark brown stubble. At the cleft of your chin, there's a little gray here..." She brushed his prickly beard. "And here."

She ran her fingertips over his cheek, and Mulder leaned forward a little. She traced up the side of his face to the bridge of his nose.

"I think you've never liked your nose, but I always have. It's prominent, but it's just right for you. Your profile is unmistakable. From here..." She stroked down from the bridge to the tip of his nose with her finger. "...to here. Your nose defines your face. Your nose is your most dignified feature."

"Dignified? Not sexy?"

"Okay, sexy too," she conceded. "But even sexier than your nose, are these."

Scully ran her fingers down under his nose, and rested her fingertips on his lips. She skimmed his lower lip with the tip of her nail, and whispered, "Your lips are expressive, attractive, and a little chapped right now. They're a soft pink, and a little darker than your skin. Your lower lip is full and one of your most handsome features. When you're concentrating on something, or you're upset, you catch it with your top teeth and red tooth marks darken your lip even more. Like it is now."

She traced her finger over the bow of his upper lip. "This lip does the smiling. Even in your sleep, your lips part, and a small, secret grin appears from your upper lip. I can't imagine my lips fitting as well with anyone else's, and I doubt that any woman would use the word 'dignified' to describe these."

She outlined the ridges of his lower lip. "Especially this one."

She moved her hand over, and brushed his birthmark with her thumb.

"This little flaw goes with mine." She took his finger and placed it on her upper lip. "I have a matching one, right here. The doctors asked me if I wanted this removed when they were repairing the scars, but I thought you might see me better if I left it here."

"I do, Scully, I remember."

"But what I still love the most, are your beautiful hazel eyes. They sparkle when you laugh, and change color with your moods. Your eyes turn a deep green when you make love to me. I mean, they grow dark when you're passionate," she amended her words to omit the colors he couldn't remember. "And they flash brightly, when you're happy." She tiptoed up and kissed them closed.

Mulder sighed and kept them shut, as she spoke.

"Your eyes are so alive that I..." She paused. "Sometimes I pretend that you're looking at me--that you can see me. It's a selfish game, I know, but..."

"It's okay, Scully. I play that game, too," he whispered. "All the time."

He trailed his fingertips down his face, and said, "Oh, look, Scully, here I am. And here you are." He reached out at caressed her face with his palm.

"Yes, here we are." And she kissed his hand. "I love you, Mulder. I can't remember a time when I didn't." She touched his lips with her finger before kissing them. "Like I said, 'In sickness and in health.'"

"I love you, too, Scully. And I know I always have." He took her hands, 'In darkness and in light,' he thought. He bent down, and in that mystical way he'd yet to figure out, found her lips with his. "I think I would like to go back to bed with you, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind." She took his hand, and said, "It's still dark outside. I'll turn out all the lights, and we can both pretend that we see each other."

Holding her hand, he smiled softly. "I don't have to pretend yet."

* * *

It took Washington, DC a day to dig itself out of the snow, but, strangely, most of Illinois was unscathed. The runways were clear, and flights took off and landed on time.

The agents landed at Springfield's Capital airport, at two in the afternoon. As they walked away from the local Rent-A-Car agency, Scully tugged his sleeve and asked, "Why do the women behind the desk always hand you the car keys?"

"Here in America's Heartland, my dear wife..." He hooked his arm through hers. "Men drink beer, wear flannel, play pool, and always, always do the driving."

"Really?" She said, unlocking the passenger side door.

"And occasionally report UFO's flying over their cornfields."

Scully gunned the Chevy Cavalier and asked, "Ready to go?"

"Yep. Take us to Springfied, the state's capital, and Abraham Lincoln's hometown," he said as he buckled up.

* * *

Senator O'Neill's office was on Spring Street, near the Capitol Complex in downtown Springfield.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Agents." The senator must have gestured for them to sit, because Scully gently backed Mulder up a couple of steps until a seat appeared against his calves. She sat, and he followed.

O'Neill continued, "I wanted to meet you here to show my office's public support, but I'm going to keep a very low profile, Agent Mulder. I'm not hiding my involvement in this investigation, but I don't want to give this cult any credence by making it look like I actually believe their bullshit."

Wanting to take the credit without getting his hands dirty, Mulder surmised. "Why don't you believe them? Maybe they do have credence." he said.

"Agent Scully," the senator's voice softened. "You're a medical doctor. Do you believe that there's a cloned baby living in Illinois? Do you think there's a human clone baby living anywhere in the world?"

Mulder sat back and listened.

"I don't believe that a cult organization has the technology for creating a perfect human replica," Scully said. "If presented with a so-called clone, I would have to take DNA samples, and make comparisons to the mother. I'm assuming that the clone is purportedly the replication of the mother she's living with, and not a clone of someone else."

"Well, that would make it pretty convenient for them, wouldn't it, Agent Scully?" The senator laughed. "To claim to have a baby cloned, but the people she's living with, aren't the DNA donors."

Mulder felt that familiar squeezing ache. He was not part of this conversation, and Senator O'Neill's attention was riveted to Scully.

"Actually, Senator, that would be convenient for us, and nullify any of their claims. Without the donor available, we could de- bunk the clone assertion immediately." She continued, "What information did A Porta Do Rei give you about the girl's whereabouts?"

"She's two months old, and living in Chicago." The senator's voice waxed and waned as he paced around the room. "The Porta Do Rei --that mean's The King's Door, right? Well, these people gave me the address to their Chicago headquarters, and requested an 'audience' with a representative from my office. Can you believe the balls on these people?"

"Very ballsey," Mulder agreed.

"I've kept that information to myself, and away from the press," O'Neill ignored Mulder's comment. "However, I'd like for you both to meet with them, on behalf of the U.S. government, and on behalf of the Senator of Illinois. To make it easier on you, I have an apartment in Chicago, overlooking the Chicago River. It has several cable Internet hookups, and a couple of phone lines, fax machines, the works. I work out of there from time to time, so technically it's a federal office. You could work on the case from there. I'll clear it with your boss. My secretary will give you the address and the keys. I'd like a timely ending to this fiasco."

"Senator..." Scully began.

"What if it's true?" Mulder interrupted.

Silence.

He restated the question. "What if there is a baby girl, living in Chicago, who is a true clone of her mother?"

"There isn't," said Senator O'Neill.

"Mulder, it's highly unlikely..."

"What if it is true?" Mulder stood, and took a short step away from the couch he shared with Scully. "Had either of you thought that, maybe, this technology is available and ready to be tested? That, as extreme an idea as a living human clone is, it could still be possible? And what if it is?" He raised his voice. "If proving this to be a hoax would benefit the state of Illinois, what would the result be if Agent Scully and I prove that she's for real?"

"There is no clone girl. She does not exist," the senator said in low, measured tones. "And it's your job to prove it."

A door clicked open.

"Go do your job. Unless, Agent Mulder, you choose to serve only by standing and waiting."

A door slammed.

Mulder worked his lips, but no words came.

"What did he mean by that?" Scully asked softly.

"He, uh..." Mulder cleared his throat. "The senator was paraphrasing Milton's Sonnet On His Blindness. Milton complained that he was blind and couldn't serve God because of his disability. But the last lines read: Thousands at His bidding speed, and post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait."

"You're not one to just stand and wait, Mulder." Cushions rustled as she stood.

"Maybe not, but I might just as well have waited outside, while you and Senator O'Neill worked the game plan for this case." He fumbled for his telescoping cane rather than her hand, and said, "Let's get the keys to the condo from the secretary, and find out the truth about this baby girl."


	4. Chapter 4

"You know, Scully. Chicago is called the Windy City, but it's not really any windier than other cities."

"I don't know about that," she said. They held hands, walking down the short hallway with plush, shoe-sinking carpeting. "I've been in Chicago when the wind pushed and peppered me pretty good."

"I didn't say there was no wind," he explained. "But the nickname was coined by a spiteful New York editor to describe Chicago politicians during the city's first World's Fair."

They stopped, and Scully clicked open Senator O'Neill's penthouse door. 

"How on earth do you know all these things?" she asked, as led him inside from the hallway.

"W.w.w. ExploreChicago.com. What is it?" He'd heard a small, sharp gasp.

"Oh my God," she said reverently. He stood still until she grabbed his coat sleeve, and tugged on it. Scully rarely dragged him behind her, but something had rendered her speechless.

"What is it, Scully?" 

"It's--breathtaking." She nudged him with her elbow. "Put your gloves on."

"What...Why?"

"I want to do something, but I don't want you leaving fingerprints."

"Scully..."

"It's the only way I can think of to show you." She nudged him again.

Mulder sighed, and dug into his coat pockets. 

"We're on the top floor. The apartment is laid out in a wide semi- circle, and there are panoramic views in all directions." She walked him over to the left, and pressed his gloved hands against a pane of glass. "I can see Lake Michigan from these windows. The water looks gray, because there are dark, winter clouds low in the sky. There's a fine mist floating above the surface. It's a fresh water lake, so there's a thick rim of ice coating the shoreline." 

She turned him to the right, paced over several steps, and pressed his hands on another set of panes. "Over here, is the Chicago skyline, even though, technically, this building is part of the skyline. Because it's so bleak right now, and evening is falling early, the lights are bright in the windows of the office buildings. The fog hides the tops of the skyscrapers."

They walked a few more steps to the right, and stopped briefly. She placed his hand on a doorknob. "This is the door to the balcony; we're thirty-eight floors up. Don't go out there. And here..." They continued on, and his hands had to reach out a little farther before they pressed against a bay window. "We're high above the Chicago River. I count--five bridges spanning the river. It's the beginning of evening rush hour, so there's lots of traffic crossing the bridges right now, but being this high up, we can't hear it."

"Senator O'Neill must make a pretty good living." It was all Mulder could think of to say. There were sheets of glass under his gloves, nothing more.

"You said that we're on the thirty-sixth floor." He pulled his gloves off, stuffed them back into his pockets, and took his coat off. "I thought I counted thirty-seven dings coming up on the elevator."

"Oh, that's right. This apartment is number 3816. The first two floors are businesses and office space, but this building doesn't have a thirteenth floor, so we're really thirty-seven floors up. There are only four of these penthouse apartments on this floor." She took his hand, put a suitcase handle into it, and turned him around. "The master bedroom is straight back from here." She gently laid her hands on his shoulders, and pushed. "Unpack."

"Okay, okay, but Scully, before we unpack, I wonder..."

"What?"

"I wonder how much spring is left in the cushions on the senator's couch."

"We are not going to baptize Senator O'Neill's sofa," she said, laughing. "Well, not right now, anyway." Sounds of zippers, bags moving around, and Scully rummaging, gave him the hint. He maneuvered into the bedroom, threw his coat on the bed, and unzipped his suitcase.

"Why do cults operate the way they do?" Scully asked from afar. "What do cults want most?"

"More cult members," he said, raising his voice. "They recruit as many believers as they can, because the more people they indoctrinate, the more influential they become. At least as a voting bloc," he smirked.

Mulder's long fingers, sifted through his suitcase's contents, finally locating a thin, hard, rectangular box. He hefted the laptop, and continued. "Not only that, but if a cult can actually clone a human being, that remarkable achievement demonstrates its credibility as an institution. As a side benefit, it opens the door to invite hundreds of infertile couples to join their ranks." He ambled out of the bedroom, skimming the wall with the fingertips of his left hand, and toward her voice. 

"Desperate people looking for a miracle," she sighed, and paper crackled. "Senator O'Neill gave us copies of the letters that A Porta Do Rei sent to his office. I think you should call them up, and make an appointment for tomorrow."

He held out the laptop, and it disappeared from his hand. "Don't you think it's weird," he said. "That A Porta Do Rei contacted the senator's office, gave him the name, address, and phone number to Cult Central, practically inviting him over for lunch? I didn't even know cults had headquarters."

"They have web sites, remember?" Scully spoke while she typed. "Maybe they figured that Senator O'Neill was their ticket to prestige and publicity. But you're right. I always thought they liked to do their--cultic duties--in secret. I didn't realize that cult leaders wanted high profiles." 

"It appears that this one does. Without a doubt, a cloned human baby, living in America's second most populous city, is very high profile." He was pacing between the Lake Michigan glass and the Chicago River glass. "And it's fantastic advertising."

"It is a great gimmick," she agreed. "There are lots of unhappy couples out there, and if they have to sign on the dotted line before they get a chance for a clone, A Porta Do Rei has an opportunity to recruit them. By the time they find out there's no baby, it may not matter; they may have already been reeled into their ranks."

Mulder continued pacing, touching the walls, the doorways, and Senator O'Neill's furniture. In the main part of the apartment, the floor plan was open, with few actual doorframes. One room led into the other, separated by half walls, wrought iron railings, and in one instance, a fireplace. However, he discovered that the balcony, master bedroom, and the two other bedrooms had doors that closed. 

"How does the biology behind cloning work, Scully?" He'd discovered a small baker's rack in the kitchen, and ran his fingers over a glass bowl on one of the shelves. "If the man's infertile, the woman's egg could be tampered with to get it to reproduce itself, right?" 

"If human reproductive cloning, or Adult DNA cloning were possible..." She sounded exasperated. "The DNA from the ovum would have to be replaced with the DNA from a cell removed from the woman. It could mean that the male was the infertile partner, or it could mean that a donor egg was used for a woman whose own eggs were unviable." She paused. "Is that why you were hoping that this technology worked?"

"What?" He stopped fingering the knobs on the stovetop. 

Her voice dropped. "Because even if cloning was available, I wouldn't consider it."

His ears began to burn, and he whirled around. "What did you say?"

"I wouldn't do it, even if it were possible," she repeated. "I just--I just wanted you to know that."

"Did you think that's what I wanted?" He couldn't imagine what he'd ever said to make her think that. "Scully, why did you say that?"

"No. You're right, Mulder. You've never said anything."

"What do you mean..." He took several long strides, but the cuff of his sleeve caught the filigreed top of the wrought iron railing dividing the kitchen from the dining area. The momentum spun him around the rail, and threw him off balance. He landed hard on his right knee, and then dropped all the way down.

"Mulder!"

"Don't touch me, Scully!" He pointed his finger up. "Just look." 

He rolled over, wincing as he sat; his legs splayed out in front of him. "Is this why you think I'd want to go to extreme measures to have a child? So she could see me bang into things, trip over my own feet, and end up falling flat on my ass? " He blinked wildly. "And do you think I'd want to have a child whose face I could never see? What do blue eyes look like again? Try describing those to me!"

"Mulder, I--I don't..."

"Aww, fuck it, Scully." He stood up, and held onto the rail that had just knocked him down. "Just get me some ice, will you?" He flexed his knee, put some weight on it, and found that it held.

"No."

Mulder shook his head. "What?"

"No, I will not fuck it." Her voice was aimed right at him. "That was quite a rendition of 'Why it's Bad to be Blind,' by Fox Mulder. And your sequel, 'Why I Don't Want to be a Father,' was just as compelling, but I won't buy it. I'm sorry that I thought you might be interested in cloning for selfish reasons. Reasons that include having a barren wife whom you think needs to have a child to feel whole. I'm sorry that the whole subject of children is painful, but I'm not going to just say fuck it, and forget it. Not anymore."

Mulder was thrown. Wasn't she supposed to apologize for accusing him of something he didn't do, feel sorry for him for falling down, kiss him, and maybe apologize again?

He lowered his voice. "Scully, I never considered cloning..." he paused, and took a breath. He suddenly realized that there was a giant white elephant in the room, and he wasn't talking about it. 

His voice softened. "Yes, I'll admit it. I know why some people would look at cloning as a way of filling the void. Cloning offers infertile couples another hope--another chance to conceive. It's extreme, probably immoral, and even I know the technology doesn't exist yet, but..." He trailed off.

"But you thought about it." She finished for him.

"Not really, Scully. Honest. I know it's not for us. But I am who I am, so I couldn't help turning the idea over in my head once--or twice. And it's because I'm still mourning..." He took in a shaky breath. "Mourning for something we can't have, that I even played around with the idea at all. Why did I do that?"

"Because..." her voice cracked. "Because it's human. Because we're human and we're hurting and we're angry. We're angry because of what's been stolen from us. In an awful way, I can understand why a woman would go through ungodly measures to have a baby. But not cloning. Not that." It was her turn to pause and take a few breaths. "And, if I'm going to be honest, I have another sin to confess."

"Scully, you have nothing to confess to me."

"Yes I do, because you know what, Mulder?" She poked his arm gently. "When I married you, I cheated you. You deserved--you deserved to have a child, to create a family, and experience fatherhood. I can't have children, so I denied you of something wonderful." 

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I also denied you your small piece of immortality; you'll have no sons or daughters living on for you into the future. I was selfish, and I married you anyway."

"Selfish?" He was baffled. "Scully, without you, I wouldn't even have a family." 

He shifted weight onto his aching right knee, and searched for the right words. "Years ago," he said. "I grieved for that loss. I still mourn, but I've accepted, and come to grips with it."

She was silent, so he couldn't read if he was getting through to her. He tried again. "You know, don't you? When you were abducted, and They robbed you of your fertility, They robbed me of my children. They made me childless, Scully, not you. Not you, not ever."

He heard a gasp through her ragged breathing.

"It's true." He smiled. "I knew it was going to be you and me for life, long before you did." He took a small step. Her expensive perfume, softened by the city wind, showed him exactly where she was. "I told you I've always loved you, and I knew what I was doing when I married you. I'm not sure you knew what you were getting into when you married me, though." He rubbed his knee.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, and rubbed her head against his chest. He stroked her hair. 

"Okay," she said, then sniffed. 

"Okay, what?" 

"I won't mourn what I can't have, if you won't."

He held her for several moments before he said, "I know that's only fair, but I can't hold up my end of that bargain."

He kissed the top of her head, and spoke into her hair. "I can't, because, while I've accepted a life without children, I haven't accepted that I'll never see you again." 

She nodded against his chest. "I wish you could see me, too."

"Even though you're going gray?" He chuckled sadly.

"Even though I'm going gray." She pulled back. "We're a mess, you know that."

"I know."

"Go sit down, and I'll get some ice for your knee." She patted his chest lightly.

He reached out again, and briefly brushed his fingertips against her face. She smiled into his hand, and vanished.

While ice rattled in the kitchen, Mulder limped over and touched the Chicago skyline glass. He turned back, and paused to check the state of the cushions before sitting on Senator O'Neill's sofa.


	5. Chapter 5

All political rhetoric aside: Chicago was a windy city.

The tall buildings created a strong chimney effect. Their massive stone faces were pummeled head-on by cold winds coming off the lake, and the freezing air rushed down their brick-fronts to the ground. Plastic bags, bits of paper, and ladies skirts swooped up as the swirling winds funneled through the streets, chilling Mulder's gloved fingers, cheeks, and most dignified feature.

A Porta Do Rei's headquarters was in an old, brick rowhouse on Chicago's South Side, and Scully had been steadily knocking on their front door for almost ten minutes.

"Mama, take this badge off of me. I can't use it anymore..." Mulder sang into the wind.

"Mulder..." she warned.

"It's getting' dark, too dark for me to see. I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door..."

"Enough! I'm freezing, and my knuckles are raw." Her warm breath hit his face. "Nobody's home. It's almost noon, and the whole cult of A Porta Do Rei is out to lunch!"

"Here," he said, stepping in front of her. "We have an appointment, so they should be expecting us. Let me try." He took his glove off, fisted his hand, and pounded in time with his singing. "Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door..."

Before he finished the verse, the heavy door swung open.

"Bem Vindo! Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI, A Porta Do Rei welcomes you, and Mrs. Fox Mulder. I am Manoel Duarte de Briho, your host and mentor. Please come in." The voice was male, tenor, and heavily accented.

"Thank you," Mulder said, entering the warm house. The scent of onions, garlic, and chili peppers simmering in hot oil, mixed with the gassy odor of a recently lit pilot light. "This is my partner, Agent Scully."

"Yes, but she is also your wife."

"For the purpose of this meeting, I am Special Agent Dana Scully," she said professionally.

Manoel de Briho said nothing, and then addressed Mulder. "Agent Mulder, Mrs. Mulder is welcome in our home only in the capacity as your wife and helpmate. Otherwise, I will ask her to wait outside."

"Mr. de Briho..." Scully began politely.

"Agent Mulder, do you wish to return with a male FBI agent?"

"No," Mulder replied, turning toward Scully. "No, I need my wife's help."

"Very well." de Briho sounded pleased. "Mrs. Mulder, please assist your husband into our office. This way."

Mulder reached his hand out. She took it, but he tucked his hand under her arm, and stood a little behind her. Not their usual walking stance, but in a classic blind walking position.

"Mulder, what...?" Scully whispered.

"Please help me into the office, dear."

She silently led him deeper into the building.

"Mr. de Briho, " Mulder spoke as he sat. "The FBI is very interested in your claim that you have successfully cloned a human being."

"Senhor de Briho," he corrected. "It is not a claim, it is a miracle given to us by the Almighty. You will understand very soon Mister Mulder, for you did not come to us by accident. You were sent to us."

A chorus of at least a half dozen, 'amen's,' chanted softly. Only it sounded like the Hebrew 'aw-mane.'

"Mister Mulder, you were sent to us by a higher power, and for a more profound reason than this investigation."

"Senhor de Briho," Mulder began. "We were brought in by Senator E. John O'Neill, whom I would hardly regard as a higher power. However, he was anxious to investigate your claim. The senator insists that we examine the evidence you have of a successful human cloning."

"Isabel is a baby girl. We do not refer to her as a 'successful cloning.'" Senhor de Briho interrupted. "I will explain, but listen carefully, Mister Mulder. Please hear me, and you will understand."

de Briho's voice fluctuated from loud to soft, as he explained.

"We are a community that has been in existence for almost four hundred years. Over that period of time, our native country, Portugal, has been influenced by many different religious persuasions. A Porta Do Rei is a divine mixture of them all. Did you know that, at one time, Judaism was welcomed, and Islam was a major religious influence during the Middle Ages?"

"Yes," Mulder answered. "During that time, the Muslims, called Moors, ruled in Spain, Portugal, and Southern France. Spanish Jews were welcomed into Portugal by King John. And even Protestantism enjoyed a romp there for a while until the Spanish Inquisition made Catholicism the only game in town. Yes, Portugal is rich in religious diversity and culture."

"And A Porta Do Rei has been blessed by them all!"

More 'aw-mane's' echoed around the room.

The Senhor continued, "For centuries we have been persecuted, and have been forced to worship in secret. Now the Almighty has spoken, and given us our mission: It is time to come out of hiding, and show the world that we are a powerful, true religion, and one to be recognized by all. A religion sanctioned and blessed by our Almighty Senhor."

"And that's why you cloned a human being?" Mulder was incredulous.

"We have discovered the truth of the holy teachings. Truths we now hold in our hands. The Bible, the Quran, and the Kabala are replete in tales magic and mysticism. Surely you are familiar with the lessons of the ancient rabbis, Agent Mulder?"

"...aw-mane, aw-mane..."

He nodded, and then shook his head in disbelief as de Briho continued.

"And after centuries of study, we have finally found A Maneira, Mister Mulder. The Way. Not only the way of life in our physical bodies," de Briho pounded his chest, so his voice wavered. "But life beyond, in our spiritual bodies." His voice dropped to a whisper, and the 'aw-mane's' dropped in volume as well. "But, what you need to know, that as a special gift, Mister Mulder, The Almighty, Meu Senhor, has chosen you to help Him. You are sacred to Meu Senhor, Fox. You are beloved. You were called, and you were chosen to help our Almighty Senhor spread his sacred miracles upon the Earth. Amen!"

"Senhor de Briho," Scully began.

Mulder gently squeezed her wrist, and said, "What miracles?"

"Help Him, and miracles will come to you," de Brio's raised his voice as he preached. "And a miracle for your wife, too, Mister Mulder. Just ask. Ask, and you shall receive them. I will give you proof, and when you join us, you will savor the fullness of life here on Earth, and be given a promise of exaltation in Heaven. Sight for a worthy blind man, Mister Mulder, and a promise for a seed to take root in a dry womb. So it is written, so it shall be done!"

"...Aw-mane! Aw-mane!..." The sound of people simultaneously standing assaulted Mulder's ears. There were many more than the half dozen he originally thought. Soft hand-clapping, and a sing- songy quality was added to the 'aw-mane' chanting.

Mulder felt Scully tense beside him. He squeezed his eyes shut, and swallowed. "Senhor," he said through clenched teeth. "You misunderstand our visit. We are here to validate your claim of a living clone. My wife is a doctor, and she needs to examine the baby Isabel, to either prove or to disprove your case."

"No, Mister Mulder. You are misunderstanding your visit here!" Senhor de Brio was jubilant. "You are not a pawn of Senator O'Neill, you were sent by God. Join us now, it is the right thing. Oh, Senhor! Do you feel it? The Holy Spirit embraces me!"

"...aw-mane!...aw-mane!...aw-mane!..." Many pairs of feet began stomping the floorboards, and the clapping got louder.

"The Spirit surrounds you, Mister Mulder and is bright--so bright. It enters me and I am divine! In nominee patris, et filio, et espiritu sancti. Amen! Oh, Holy Spirit, you were sent by The Lord of Light, The Lord of Power, The Lord of Truth. Baruch atah Adonai!" He lowered his voice, and in a husky whisper said, "Agent Mulder, join us. The Truth will be given to you, and you will believe. Amen!"

Scully flinched under his hand.

"I assure you, Senhor," Mulder remained calm. "The baby girl, Isabel, is the only reason why we are here. And throwing Hebrew blessings at me doesn't impress me."

de Briho laughed. "You are almost correct. It was a baby girl that brought you to us. But not Isabel. It is the baby girl your wife will conceive through the mercy of our Lord and Almighty. And to you, Mister Mulder, Meu Senhor will restore the light to your eyes. You will see again."

Mulder stood, pulling Scully up with him.

"Mister de Briho," he growled.

"We have the knowledge and the blessing to do it, Agent Mulder. Join us, and your wishes will be granted, amen. You will father a daughter, and a son, too, amen. We will save your wife from the disease that now lies dormant within her, amen."

"How do you know these things about us?" Scully asked in a hushed voice.

"...aw-mane...aw-mane...aw-mane...aw-mane..."

"Answer her. How do you know?" Mulder's voice was dangerously low.

"It is the power granted to us, Agent Mulder. I assure you, we are the truth you seek. Join us. Join us, and you will believe."

"Nothing you've said convinces me that this baby girl exists. Your chauvinistic organization preys upon desperate people and their dire situations. After hearing your claims of miracles and signs, now I'm sure that Isabel the Clone is a hoax. It's a sad ruse to convince unhappy people to sign up, and increase A Porta Do Rei's numbers. Your tactics are pathetic and immoral. You have bastardized truly sacred teachings, and made them fit your sick agenda." Mulder raised his voice. "My partner and I know that you are a master of emotional blackmail. The world will find out very soon that you, and your organization, are the worse kind of frauds."

"Agent Mulder, please reconsider. We can help you. All I said is that we can help you." Senhor de Briho's tenor voice dropped to a bass. "But, if you do not let us help you, you are against us. Woe unto thee."

"When all else fails, resort to threats, eh, de Briho? Your words neither impress or frighten me."

"More than threats, Mister Mulder. Meu Senhor guides my hand now."

Mulder, deliberately, and without his wife's help, strode to the front door, and opened it. Scully was close behind, following him out to the sidewalk.

Mulder slammed the door, stood on the pavement breathing hard, and fiercely shook his head.

After a minute, she said, "Professionally handled, Agent Mulder."

"Shut up, wife." He exhaled. "Preying on people's vulnerabilities is wrong. Offering miracles and miracle cures is wrong." Scully took his arm, and steered him across the street, heading up the block toward their rental car. Ice and salt or sand crunched under his shoes, as the cold air stung his nose again.

"How did de Briho know those things about us?" she asked.

"How did he know? How does anybody get information nowadays? W.w.w dot MulderandScully dot com, maybe?" He shrugged. "Besides there have been a lot of newspapers doing a lot of research on us after that Everglades thing. "

"MulderandScully dot com? I'm serious."

"Me, too, but I'm convinced that anyone can find anything they want." He paused. "They just have to know where to look."

After a few steps, she said, "There were over a dozen men and women in there. The men held their hands up in a blessing every time de Briho spoke, and the women kept crossing themselves with the Catholic sign of the cross. Religious icons covered the walls. Some looked Greek, some looked Hebrew--it was a weird mixture. The six or seven women were so heavily veiled in black Muslim-like burqas, that I couldn't see their eyes."

"Yeah, but damn, their dinner smelled great," he said, trying to shake off his anger.

Scully paused, then spoke softly. "Promising miracles may be immoral, and keeping women darkly veiled from the tops of their heads to the tips of their shoes is submissive. Offering to give a blind man his sight may be in extremely poor taste..." She squeezed his hand. "But it's not illegal. You can't arrest a whole cult, and re-enacting Waco, is a bad idea. Besides, you'd have to include all organized religions, if you're putting people away for offering miracles. In some way or other, every religion promises the believer an answer to their prayers."

"Yes, but there's a difference between organized religion, and a closed society run by a demagogue. There is no human clone, there never was. I want these people exposed, Scully, and reveal the kind of Popsicle stand A Porta Do Rei is running."

"How do you know there is no clone?" Scully nudged him gently to step left.

"What?" He stopped walking, despite her prodding. "What are you talking about?"

"What kind of credibility would this investigation have, if we immediately gave up because they refused our request to see the baby?"

"Good God," he said, more to himself than to her. "How much more time do we waste on this?"

"Not much," she replied. "Senator O'Neill gave us the information on where the baby supposedly lives. Let's go knock on some doors, and report in full."

"You really want another party invitation from the senator, don't you? Ouch." His right knee gave out as he stepped up the curb. He went halfway down before Scully, and his left leg, got the idea and took over. "Goddam it!"

"Still catching on you, is it?" she asked. She was unlocking the car with her hand still holding his arm.

"Yeah. It's not bad, though. I guess I'm just tensing because of all the ice on the street." He ran his hand over the glass window and down the cold metal, until he found the latch, and popped the door open. He slid onto the bucket seat, and flexed his knee a few times. On the driver's side, the door opened, and then slammed shut.

"We're being watched," Scully said, as the car shifted into gear. "They're all lined up at the windows."

"So? Let them watch. Their days are numbered, as far as I'm concerned." He pointed his finger in front of him. "Drive, wife, and get us out of here."

* * *

Not only cold and windy, but in the middle of January, Chicago is a gets-dark-early city as well. At least that's what Scully said as she drove through the streets heading west.

"The instructions are vague on purpose." Her voice was aimed at the windshield. "But according to the information A Porta Do Rei provided to Senator O'Neill's office, Isabel is supposed to be living with her family in a small community just north of Midway Airport."

"Are we there yet?" he asked.

The familiar sound of the turn signal, and a sharp right followed. "Almost."

"This pavement pounding, and door knocking is scut work," he muttered. "I know what we'll find--or rather, what we won't find. It's like we're doing bullshit background checks again."

"Yes, but we're so good at it. Okay, we're there." Scully turned right, pulled over, and stopped. Keeping the car running with the heat on, she described, "It's a lower middle class neighborhood with small but neatly kept older houses. You'll need your cane, because the sidewalks are uneven where the roots from old trees have cracked through the concrete."

"Wait, let me rehearse my lines." He cleared his throat. "No, ma'am, you're not in any trouble, we just have a few questions about a possible Portuguese clone baby residing in your community." He dug his cane out of the back seat, and his gloves out of his pockets. "How's that?"

"Very nice," she answered, politely. The car's heater died with the sound of a turning key. "Now that you have your lines down, can we get this show on the road?"

He tilted his head up, and smiled broadly, "I'm ready for my close- up."

The show lasted longer than Mulder would have liked. Finally sitting in a warm car, heading back towards the senator's penthouse, he took his glove off and lifted the crystal of his wristwatch. He realized that it had taken over two and a half hours of door banging, asking about newborn babies, and reassuring residents that they were not in any trouble, to end up with sore knuckles, chapped lips, and a drippy nose.

And, after all that, not one person knew of a newborn child living in the entire neighborhood.


	6. Chapter 6

"My report is complete," Mulder said, punching the "send" key. "I have formally declared the state of Illinois to be Clone-Free. Here, listen to the last part..."

He'd raised his voice so Scully could hear him in the kitchen, and quoted from memory, "This agent repeatedly requested access to the baby Isabel, to determine the veracity of A Porta Do Rei's claim of creating a living human clone. When no attempt was made to produce the baby for examination, Agents Mulder and Scully left the cult's headquarters and canvassed the area, identified by the cult, as the baby's current neighborhood. And wait, Scully, I like this part the best..."

He stopped, in order to say the words the way he'd just emailed them.

"The average age of the residents of this neighborhood was in the mid to late sixties. These agents were met with disbelief when asked if a family with a newborn had moved into this old, established area in the past two months. According to one resident, 'the last newborn in this neighborhood is living in a dorm in South Bend, Indiana.'"

Mulder snickered at the memory of one old man's response when Scully asked him about a new baby. 'All the women in this neighborhood quit their baby-makin', an' dried up a long time ago. I doubt if any of 'ems still even havin' sex with their husbands any more.' The man raised his voice. 'I know mine ain't!'

"So, in conclusion, as no evidence was presented, no evidence of a successful cloning exists."

He sat back, interlaced his fingers, and cracked his knuckles. "I have preserved E. John O'Neill's senator-ship. He'll like us even more now, than he did after the Amanda Ward case."

"Oh, good," Scully answered, as the refrigerator door slammed. "I'll buy another expensive dress for the next New Year's Eve party with the raise he'll get for us. Do you want wine or beer with dinner?"

"Wine with dinner, beer now." He smiled, and his fingers itched at the thought of another in-depth wardrobe check. "When's our flight home?"

"Not 'till tomorrow night. The weather in DC is still bad, but the airports are open. Your beer's on the table, I'm going into the bedroom to start packing the non-essentials."

"Well," he said. "That means we have one more day in this toddlin' town."

Mulder stood up from the desk in the study, walked over and pressed the pads of his fingers against the cold Chicago Skyline window. "Hey, Scully!" He yelled toward the master bedroom. "Can we go to the Sears Tower tomorrow? Oops." He wiped the window with the cuff of his sweatshirt, hoping he got all his fingerprints off. Scully mentioned the fingerprints after the last time he'd touched the Chicago skyline glass without wearing his gloves. "I'd like to go up the tallest building in North America, just to say I did."

He turned left, walked down the hallway, and palmed the knob to the unused second bedroom. "Hey, Scully! When we get up to the Skydeck..."

A fist came out of the blackness, and landed a blow somewhere around his jaw. A knee came up from somewhere, and caught him in the stomach. As he doubled over, an open hand smacked his face.

Attacked. He was being attacked. "Scully! Scully!!"

Mulder raised his arms up in defense, as another fist materialized, striking him behind the left ear. He staggered, his arms flailing helplessly as he fell. He grabbed wildly into the air, and got lucky. Pulling hard on his attacker's wrist, he heard a satisfying thud as Mulder jerked him off balance. Using the moment his attacker was thrown off, he backed away, putting as much space between them as he could.

"Scully!" he called again. Shit. Turning to where the intruder was last, he screamed into the air. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The air moved, and Mulder moved left, swinging his right fist in a high arc, striking hard on the back of someone's head. Mulder backed up again, toward the kitchen, waving his arms in front of him. The man smelled of body odor, garlic, and chili peppers.

The back of a hand slamming into his face took him by surprise. He fell sideways, but caught himself on the kitchen counter. A coppery taste filled his mouth. Heavy breathing and footsteps were in front of him. Mulder dragged the baker's rack between him and the breaths. Some of the items the senator had stored on it shattered on the tiled floor.

"Mister," the accented voice whispered. "A Porta Do Rei knows who you are. Now we know that The Almighty Senhor did not lead you to us. O Diabo is at work in you, the Devil has taken your soul, and turned you against Senhor Manoel de Briho's true voice. Meu Senhor has sent me on a holy mission, aw-mane! To quiet your evil voice. Your wife's voice has already been stilled."

The blood rushed to his face. "What have you done to her?"

"You will not interfere with A Porta Do Rei's sacred purpose," he said. "Or mine." The baker's rack was wrenched from his grip, and crashed in a chorus of jingling shards. Mulder quickly backed out of the kitchen, and reached the nearest window.

He placed his shaking hands on the glass, and mumbled, "Lake Michigan, Chicago Skyline, Chicago River..." Jesus, Scully, what did he do to you? Please be all right.

The currents shifted, the odor became stronger. Mulder ducked his head, and lunged in that direction. He butted his attacker into the same iron railing that toppled him the day before. A strong foot came up, and kicked into Mulder's right knee.

Mulder screamed and dropped to the floor. Tears came to his eyes, as he rubbed his knee. It hurt like hell, but apparently so did something on the other man, because he'd gone down, and hadn't come up yet. Painful groans came from the direction of the iron railing.

Mulder hauled himself up, and hobbled down the hallway toward the master bedroom. "Scully! Talk to me, Scully! Scully!"

Hands came quickly from behind, and grabbed fistfuls of his sweatshirt. Mulder lost his balance, as his attacker yanked him up. He was swung around, and thrown onto the hard ceramic floor. His teeth clamped down on his tongue as his chin smacked the tiles. Mulder rolled over, made a fist, and punched as hard as he could, straight up. He made direct contact with something soft, and a loud moan followed.

He scrambled up from the floor, and almost fell again. His knee buckled, and the head smack to the floor made him dizzy. Jesus, he had to reach Scully in the master bedroom, but there was a big Portuguese cult member standing or lying between him and the bedroom door.

Shaking his head to clear it, he realized that he either had to find another way into the bedroom, or find a weapon. Weapons are tricky to use when you can't see what you're aiming at, but he needed to defend himself--and Scully. Leaning heavily against the walls and furniture, Mulder made his way through the circular apartment, and stopped suddenly. He'd lost his bearings, and didn't know which way he was facing.

"Which one's Lake Michigan?" he whispered aloud. He palmed a windowpane, and then another. Goddam it, the whole apartment was made of windowpanes. Now the dizziness was making him nauseous. Breathing hard, he stepped right. Frantically moving his hands over the rails and glass, he found a doorknob. He opened it, hoping something inside would give him an advantage, like a working phone line.

It was interesting that there was no sensation of height. If Scully hadn't told him that he stood thirty-seven floors above the Chicago River, he would have thought he was out on a backyard patio, on a cold evening. There was hard concrete under his feet, a brisk breeze, and that was all. No nighttime skyline, no frozen lake in the distance, just vague traffic sounds, far away.

Mulder quickly paced it out. The balcony was about nine feet deep, by twelve feet wide, at the far end, was a waist high iron railing. Since it was winter, there was no outdoor furniture. Just a slab of bare concrete thirty-seven stories in the air. The door clicked open.

"Mister," a hoarse voice whispered. "It is time."

Mulder tried to limp back to the door, but thick fingers dug into his hair, dragging him back to the railing. Mulder leaned against the rail, and using his good leg, landed a knee somewhere around where he hoped the attackers crotch would be. The hands let go of his hair. Mulder tried to slip by him, but he was pushed back against the rail. Mulder leaned back feeling the cold wrought iron against his hip.

"I agree." Mulder said, breathing hard. "It is time." He swung his right leg over the railing. Sometimes you have to create your own advantages.

"Bom. That is good," he replied. Mulder heard the man stepping back away from him. "It is time to meet the Almighty."

Now, Mulder heard fast footsteps approaching. Four feet away, three feet... two. Chili peppers and garlic. A sudden gust of cold wind shot into the balcony. He vaguely heard the dull sound of bullets popping. Mulder grabbed the rail and jumped over, clinging to it with both hands. Overhead, a disbelieving scream cut the air, and echoed around him, and down. And down.

A moment later, a sweet sound filled the air.

"Mulder!" Scully screamed.

"Here, Scully!" Thank God. "Here!"

Strong, warm hands helped pull him over the rail, and to his feet. His arms went around her, and he hung on to her.

"Thank God, you're all right." He gulped in huge lungfuls of air. "I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you. I tried to get to you, but I couldn't get past him. Thank God you're all right." He squeezed her tighter as he rambled.

She ran her hands over his head and neck, and up and down his arms, as if reassuring herself that he was still there.

"Jesus, Mulder, I saw you jump." Her voice caught in a sob. "When he charged at you, I tried shooting him through the glass door. Then you flipped over the rail, and he sailed over you. Oh, God, I saw you jump." She sobbed in earnest against his chest.

"But I didn't jump, Scully. I'm right here." He held on to her for dear life. "I'm right here."

"I thought I lost you," she whispered, when she had enough breath. "Mulder, I couldn't bear it..."

He murmured to her as he stroked her hair. She flinched slightly. The smell of gunpowder, and the tang of blood surrounded her. He frowned, and brought his hands up to her face. She pulled back, trembling, and said, "I'm alright. Let's go inside, it's freezing out here. And it's scary."

"Wait."

He held her with one hand, and touched her face intently with the other. Her skin was unblemished and unscarred, but his fingertips became sticky. He touched her right eyebrow, and she flinched again, but he gently held fast. Gash at the brow line, gash at the hairline. Blood from her nose. Tears filled his eyes.

"I couldn't get to you," he repeated sadly.

"It's okay, Mulder. I'm fine, really." She tugged him, and he leaned against her, as he limped back inside. "He broke into the apartment through the emergency fire exit located in the master bedroom. He was waiting for me, with a lead crystal ashtray. I guess he figured that once he smacked a women down, she would stay down," she said softly.

"Thank God they were wrong." His voice was a series of soft breaths.

"Amen to that," she said. And they both sank to the floor.

* * *

Senator O'Neill's balcony door had sustained major damage, even though none of Scully's bullets had actually pierced through it. The police reports were taken, and the body scraped off the sidewalk was identified as Afonso Vaaz. He was a recent emigre from Portugal on a student visa, and an active member of A Porta Do Rei. Currently inactive.

Mulder shifted his leg around to give Scully better access, and thought, 'Checking Scully's wardrobe by feel, and not knowing how high you are from certain death. I never realized that there would be two perks to being blind.'

They'd stayed in Chicago for two more days. After many strings were pulled, reports filed, and red tape cut, a thankful U.S. senator sent them home.

Scully continued icing Mulder's knee at their kitchen table. It didn't hurt much any more, but he liked the way she fussed over him.

"Scully, the important thing is: we exposed them. A Porta Do Rei has experienced a permanent setback. Right now, Senhor Manoel Duarte de Briho is persona non grata in the United States, and paperwork is being filed to repatriate him to Portugal. Funny thing is, Lisbon isn't in any hurry to take him back."

She worked the ice from his inner thigh, to behind his knee. "Really? They don't want him either?"

"Nope. The Portuguese government has been watching A Porta Do Rei for years, because there's always been a lot of shady activity surrounding them. And every time they actually had proof of a crime, the witnesses disappeared. Now, we've helped them supply the evidence they needed to shut down the main headquarters in Lisbon. The Portuguese federal officers now know that de Briho's cult has not only used psychological extortion, emotional blackmail, lies, and false promises to gain members, but mail fraud, racketeering, and now, murder as a way of keeping the faithful--uh--faithful."

"No kidding? Hmm...I've never been to Portugal. Maybe we could offer to help them out with their investigation. I wonder what it's like over there this time of year?" She dried his knee, adjusted his pant leg, and kissed him on the lips.

He gave her a little peck.

"What's wrong? Do I have bad breath?"

"No...no, your breath's not bad. I mean. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she said. "The stitches come out tomorrow. I told you it was just three little ones at the hairline. You won't even feel the scar."

He sat up. "Yeah, you told me. We owe senator O'Neill a new ashtray, though."

"Is that really what's bothering you?"

"Yes. I mean, no." He paused, shook his head, and sighed. "I was a fool to believe they may have actually cloned a human being."

"Oh." Chair legs slid on the hardwood floor as she pulled it up next to him. "So, you did believe them--about the baby clone?"

"Truthfully, Scully, I wanted to believe. It brought back the feelings of when the X-Files were new. First it was me against the world, then you and me against the world... Back then, I could feel the blood running through my veins, and when we were tracking down a suspect in a weird or unsolved crime, I could almost taste the hunt. It seems like that life belonged to someone else, and I guess--I guess I wanted it back."

He tilted his head down. "In fact, back then food had taste, sunsets were orange and gold, and I could curl up the with a newspaper on Sunday morning, and work on the crossword puzzle all week if I wanted to. And in the spring, thousands of cherry blossom bloomed around the Tidal Basin at West Potomac Park, and when a breeze blew, a pink snowstorm of fallen petals swirled around the Washington Monument. Back then, a hair brush ending up on the floor, or a door left open by mistake were just nuisances instead of major safety hazards." His head snapped up. "Shit. Where did all that come from?"

"I didn't know that food had lost its taste," she said softly.

"Well, taste is the wrong word. I still taste food. But my fondness for food has diminished. I found that a lot of the appeal of food is in the presentation. And not only dining, either. A smile, a wink, a gesture, they're all meaningless now, because I can't receive one in return. Except when you smile for me." And he smiled for her.

She stroked his cheek. "You know, when a body part isn't used, it atrophies. Even the sight centers of the brain atrophy from disuse. That's why the pictures in your memory are fading away."

"I know that. I just couldn't accept that is was something beyond my control. I thought if I worked at it hard enough, and kept practicing--that it wouldn't all go away."

He sighed, and sat back. "It's funny though, up until now, I thought of myself as a sighted person who just couldn't see. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does." She laced her fingers through his.

"Now, I have to get used to a sightless identity. I'm a blind man now. Does that make me someone else? Am I a different man than I was before?" He really wanted to hear her answer.

She paused. "Blindness changed you, of course it did, but it didn't make you into someone else. Life is a culmination of experiences, and each experience adds to who we already are. As individuals, we are constantly evolving, and we continue evolving until the day we die."

Scully lowered her voice. "Being blind is the biggest part of your life. It's you're identifying feature, but it doesn't define you. Blindness isn't who you are. You are still the same strong, intelligent, determined man that you've always been. But now, you are forced to experience life differently, and to use your other talents to cope with the loss of your sight. Your vision is gone, life is harder for you."

"I can't find any upside to being blind," he said sadly. "And frankly, Scully, I don't want to do it anymore."

"There are only two choices, Mulder." She was choosing her words carefully. "Either you do it, or you don't do it. But once you make that decision to not dive off a thirty-seven story balcony, then the rest is up to you. But remember, there are people who want to help you. You aren't alone. I'm here, and I'll always be here."

"I know that," he said softly. "I do, but sometimes--it's not enough. I mean..." God, he couldn't believe what he was about to tell her.

"It's okay, Mulder," she said, tenderly.

"After the explosion, and you were hurt, I thought about you, I worried about you, I...," he searched for words he didn't want to say. "You distracted me. Shit, Scully. I used you to take my mind off me."

The next words came out in a rush. "Not only that, but finally, the woman I'd loved for so long, needed me. And I could offer her something no one else in the world could. Immortal youth and beauty. You were scarred, but to my mind's eye, you would always be young and beautiful. I know that sounds selfish, keeping you all to myself like that."

"No," she said in a hushed breath. "Even though I couldn't see myself through the scars, it meant a lot to me that you could."

He nodded thoughtfully, and spoke slower. "Then you went through those painful surgeries, and I took care of you. Even though I never saw the bandages, or the swelling around your eyes, I knew I was still needed. But afterwards, other men saw that you were beautiful, and I could not. So I couldn't be the exclusive keeper of your beautiful memory. Then you married me. I got the commitment I thought I always wanted from you."

"You thought you wanted?" she whispered.

"Don't you see, Scully? After the priest pronounced us man and wife, nothing could tear us apart. We were set in stone together, and you would stay with me even if you were miserable. I locked you in, with no choice to ever leave."

"I think you might be overestimating some things," she said.

"At first, life changed so quickly for me. Blindness brought respect from my superiors, admiration from my co-workers, and the woman I loved into my bed. It was an adventure, but it quickly turned into a life sentence. God, Scully, I don't wish for your scars back, I would never want that, but I wish--I want..." He paused, and sighed. "I'm grateful for you. But I'm tired of being grateful. I just want to be normal. I just want to see again."

She was quiet for a few moments, but her voice was strong when she said, "Despite what we promised each other, grieving is an ongoing process, and it doesn't just stop because we say so. For you, accepting your blindness may be a long way away. Maybe you'll never feel normal again. But I'll hope, and I'll pray that you will."

"Thank you." He kissed her hand. "Milton wrote his twelve book poem "Paradise Lost" after becoming blind. Maybe there's an epic out there for me to write."

"Or a crime to solve," she said. "Milton was a poet before he went blind. You were a lawman. You're still a lawman."

"Yes, that's one thing I am sure of. Another thing I'm sure of is that I love you." He paused, "But, while I'm loving you, I'm also needing you, and not always in a good way. I'm stubborn, because I'll always miss seeing you. Every day, I'll mourn the loss of your face. Every day, I'll miss what I can't have." He closed his sightless eyes. "And I'll always wonder what my life would have been like without the flash that blinded me."

Now that he'd said it, he wondered if it was the right thing to do. Pouring out his soul to the love of his life should give him a sense of peace. That was why he told her, wasn't it?

Scully sat quiet and still beside him. After a few silent minutes, he jiggled her hand and said, "Hey, Scully, how 'bout those Knicks?"

He heard her take a breath. "Mulder. I don't know what to say, because I can't fix it. I can only promise to travel the road with you, even if you decide to spend your life second guessing, bargaining for a second chance, or wondering what if...?" She paused. "But are you really so dense to believe I'd stay with you because a priest said to? That I'd stay out of pity or duty? Or because you're blind? Don't you know how much I love you?"

Mulder picked up his head, and cocked his ear to the right.

Her voice wavered. "I stay with you because I need you. Because I want you. I'll stay with you forever, because you always keep me guessing. You lend me your wings and show me that maybe, just maybe, miracles can happen. You make me happy, and it breaks my heart that I can't do the same for you."

"Oh, Scully," he said softly. "You're my anchor. You give my life purpose, and you give my heart a home. But you're not responsible for my happiness. You are a major part of it, though." He kissed her hand and said, "You know I love you, right?"

There was movement, which he interpreted as head nodding.

"I love you, too," she said, simply.

Suddenly that sense of peace he was looking for appeared, and with it, a pinpoint of hope at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

"Hey, Scully?"

"Yes?"

"My knee could use a walk."

"I--uh--don't know if it's safe to go outside. It's still icy." She let go of his hand.

"Then hold onto me so I won't fall." He pushed his chair back and stood.

Offering her both his hands he said, "And I'll hold onto you."


End file.
